While I can see Dire Dawa airport become blurred in its arid setting out of my porthole on this 21st of June, I’m saying to myself that next school year is probably going to be rather different from the one that has just ended. Because of the Ogaden crisis, the French Embassy almost forced me to spend a holiday in the home country, and this journey looks like an evacuation. In any case, Jean-Luc is leaving Harar for good. A few hours earlier, at the cut off bridge, I crossed the dry river on foot with my small luggage – I left nearly all my things in Harar – and I waited for another collective taxi on the opposite side. I have chosen to fly with Ethiopian Airlines for it enables me to have a free return ticket from Dire Dawa to Addis. I arrive in the New Flower and I stay at the Ras Hotel for I’ve nobody I can ask to put me up at the moment. I point out that at that time, I paid 19.80 birrs a night for the room at the Ras, and about 5 birrs for a simple meal, service included. After some shopping, a few visits and steps, I take off to Paris on the 24th of June. Addis airport, situated in Bole, is only five or six kilometres from the metropolis centre. From the plane which is flying over the capital, one realizes better than from the ground the abundance of eucalyptuses which are a fine ornament of the city. See you soon, forest town, it’s just a good bye.

The next day, I’m back in Rouen, with my family. I’ve brought a supply of Harar coffee beans, I couldn’t do less. A few days later, we go to Veules-les-Roses, by the Channel, about fifty kilometres north from the Norman metropolis. A very good lunch in the typically French restaurant Les Galets (‘The Shingle’) represents a great change and is thus a good idea! It doesn’t spoil Mrs Demeketch’s merits. Besides, I haven’t seen the sea, except from a plane, for almost a year, and since the sun is with us, I spend a very good day.

On the 11th of July, Rouen welcomes the Tour de France’s cyclists. This prestigious event has always been very popular. Whatever jolts can happen on the sports scene, one can only acknowledge the courage and the talent of those champions. On this Monday, lots of Rouen dwellers have gathered and don’t want to miss the 10th stage finish. In the background, you can see the city’s cathedral, a famous Gothic edifice, whose XIXth century cast iron spire is the highest in France.

To-day’s winner is the Dutchman Fedor Den Hertog. On can see the German Dietrich Thurau on the podium, wearing the Yellow Jersey and brandishing his bouquet, waving to the crowd. The commentator on the spot is Léon Zitrone.

Rouen is the starting point of the next stage as well. So I’m here the following morning again to see the pack rush from City Hall Square, through Louis Ricard street. The competitor from the Fiat team, on the left, is either Eddy Merckx or Patrick Sercu. Both cyclists – and only the two of them in the team – wore the rainbow jersey. This Tour de France was the last one for the two great Belgian champions.

The Tour de France is one of the rare sports events, as far as I know, where all competitors are always cheered, whatever their place or nationality. Among the shows going with the Tour, I’m here at the recording of a famous radio programme, ‘The 1000-Franc Game’, compèred by Lucien Jeunesse. I move forward to take the picture; I’m wearing a shirt decorated with Ethiopian patterns; the compère looks at me, but doesn’t speak to me, of course, busy as he is.

During my stay in Rouen, I can meet my fellow student Jean-Michel L. and we share a meal in a restaurant. He is going to join the army after his deferment. He didn’t managed to get a post to serve on Voluntary Service Overseas. Days go by fast but now I like my new life in Hararghe and I prepare my return journey without apprehension. On the 31st of July, it’s time to say good bye again and I take a train to Paris, before going to Orly airport. PART 11